


Kabosu

by Simbeline



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Although they clearly love each other a lot, Cannibalism, Could be seen as romantic or platonic as you like, Dark Will, Gen, If that's your thing - Freeform, M/M, Murder, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Temporary Character Death, The tags might make this story sound exciting, Very Brief Rape Mention (not involving main characters), Will has Powers, but it's actually very slice of life-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-03 07:25:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11527407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Simbeline/pseuds/Simbeline
Summary: Hannibal dies when they hit the water.Luckily for him, death isn't necessarily an ending when Will Graham is around, if only he's willing to pay the price.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written a chaptered fic before and it could go badly, but here we go. This isn't going to be that long but it's a lot longer than the 4-5k word oneshots I've written so far, so I'm splitting it up.
> 
> Beta'd by [withinmeloveresides1](http://withinmeloveresides1.tumblr.com/) \- thank you for your fixing and feedback :).

Will remembered the first time it happened, although he didn’t realize it was weird at the time. He was ten years old, walking home from school when he saw a dog get hit by a car. The driver didn’t realize, and the car continued on its way. Will rushed over, hoping -  _ please let it be alive, please please please  _ \- and when he reached it, it was. The dog sprang up, tongue hanging out and tail wagging, like he’d never been hit. Will cried with relief as he carried the dog to the sidewalk. 

He noticed briefly, through his tears, that the grass was brown instead of green, but thought nothing of it. 

He remembered the first time he realized  _ he _ was weird. Well, weirder. Not the kind of weird he’d already mostly figured out. He was fourteen, and arrived home to their slowly sinking shack on the outskirts of town. His father was home, as he had been for the past two days, unable to find work. On mornings when the dispatch office said they didn’t have anything for him that day, he’d start drinking as soon as he got home. Solace, he said. 

So finding him passed out on the floor wasn’t exactly unusual, and he’d generally manage to rouse himself by dinner time, so Will left him alone to do his homework. He found it hard to concentrate on that particular day, something was different. While working through his math homework, it hit him. Too quiet. His dad never snored, but laying on his front on the hard floor, he usually made a kind of wheezing sound. Like his lungs were struggling to move under the dead weight of his back. That day, nothing.

“Dad?” Will called. Tentative. Hoping that he was wrong. Will reached out to touch him and his skin was slightly chilled. Too cold. “Dad!” he cried, panicked. He felt desperation crawl up his throat and settle under his tongue -  _ no, no, no! Don’t leave me alone! Not yet... _ \- and then, a wheezing breath. His dad coughed and rolled over.

“What’s wrong, m’boy?” his dad said weakly. Will sobbed in relief. 

“Dead. Dead. You were dead, daddy.” Will’s breath came in heaving gasps.

His dad reached out and pulled him down so Will’s head rested on his chest, right against his beating heart. “It’s okay. It’s alright. Your fool father just drank too much, it’s okay. I won’t do it again,” he said.

Will clutched his dad and cried and cried until he exhausted himself, his head empty but aching and his throat sore. He didn’t go to school the next day, working himself into hysterics whenever his dad was out of sight. When they stepped outside in the afternoon, his dad said, “I guess fall came early.”

And indeed, though it was only September, the grass around their house was brown. The trees looked grey, their brown leaves slowly drifted toward the ground. At the next house over, there was a small crowd of people, who Will mostly recognized as their neighbors. They wandered over.

“What’s all this?” Will’s dad asked.

One of the neighbors, another transient laborer grunted, “Billy died yesterday.”

“What?” Will’s dad said, “Didn’t even know he was sick. Seemed healthy whenever I saw him.”

The neighbor shrugged. “Big mystery. Kid was only twenty-nine, but he just suddenly up and died.”

Will felt a chill, and suddenly knew in his bones that he’d killed that man, that he was the reason the grass and trees were dead. As sure as he knew his dad had been dead, and then lived. He’d willed his dad to live again, and in exchange someone else had died.

In that moment, fear crawled up his spine to settle in his neck, and stayed there. 

It stayed there for years.

Will’s dad kept his promise. He locked the whiskey bottle away during the day, and only allowed himself a taste at night, just to carry him to sleep faster. Will wondered if he could somehow feel Billy’s life in him, if it haunted him the way it haunted Will.

They moved again.

Will kept his head down at the next school. Further down. He’d always had issues making friends - he was the new kid, he was weird, his eyes noticed details others missed and cobbled them together into stories no one wanted to hear - but he’d had a few. New kids could be new in a good way too, after all.

But after he brought his dad back to life, he withdrew from everyone. He read in the library to avoid going outside, avoided touching anyone, looking at anyone. He’d always avoided eyes, but he started avoiding everything and kept his gaze locked firmly on the ground. How did he know what caused it? He knew, deep down, that he was being ridiculous. If it were as easy as that for him to kill someone, he would have done it before. 

He remembered the dog, and the brown grass. 

He was afraid, but despite his fear, when he came across a dead bird in the yard he tried to bring it back. That time, perhaps because he wasn’t so frantic, he could feel _something_. The life in the blades of grass, the ants, the flies - slowly draining into the bird by his will. He tried to put it back, feeling guilty about stealing the life from everything around him for just this one, tiny life, but it was hard. Then suddenly - _ snap _ \- the bird flapped its wings. The life he gave belonged to it now, and taking it away again would kill the bird. 

Around him, the grass is brown, but that time he could see the smaller things too. The buzz of flies was gone, the ant near his foot had curled up, dead. 

Will learned it took a lot of little lives to bring back a bigger life. More life than it had originally, especially if it had been dead for a while. That was why he killed the neighbor, Billy, despite taking from all the grass and trees around him too. His dad must have been dead for hours before he brought him back.

His mind wondered, briefly, about the details of how it would work on humans - did it, for example, make a difference how old or young they were? - before he forced the thoughts back. He wasn’t thinking about trying anything that might involve killing people. He _wasn't_.

Over the years, Will tried not to think about what he could do - not the piecing together of stories from little pieces of evidence, and  _ definitely not _ the raising the dead - but still, he sometimes couldn’t help but _see_ and _feel_.

He joined the police because maybe he could at least do something useful with one of his… gifts. 

When he was twenty-two, his dad died again. He was far away that time, working his first year as a cop while his father moved around as always. When he went to see the body, he reached out to just  _ touch _ the life around him. Felt the amount it would take to bring him back. He felt the funeral home director and his wife, felt how their little lights would be snuffed out, and pulled back with a shudder. No, he wouldn’t do that. He loved his dad, but death was a natural part of life. He was an adult now, he could live without him.

So he walked through the funeral procedures - cheapest everything, all he could afford - grieving but also accepting. He’d made the choice to leave him be.

The first time he viscerally  _ wanted _ to take life from someone to give to someone else, he was answering a domestic violence call. He knocked on the door and a man answered, smiling cordially with violence in his eyes and lies on his lips. Will followed procedure and informed him they’d received a call from the neighbors, and could he see if there was anyone else in the house? At that point, the man’s expression changed, and he shoved Will back and took off down the street. Stupid, since his partner was in the car and took off running after him. 

Will should have gone after him too, but instead pushed the door wide open and stepped inside, looking left into the living room. And there she was, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, mouth open like she’d been gasping for air. Bruises were beginning to show around her neck. 

He gripped the life of the man - no,  _ maggot _ \- who did this, tugging at him as he ran. He felt his partner tackle him. What if he died and she lived? Who would it hurt? Who would know? He felt the man’s life force flutter, teetering on the edge of death, and the sensation snapped him out of his vicious thoughts. 

No, he couldn’t do that. He’d killed Billy, but he’d been young and it was an accident. This would be different. This would be a line he didn’t want to cross.

Not yet.

It was those thoughts that made him freeze, years later, when a suspect ran towards him with a knife. He could have shot. He  _ should _ have shot, probably, but he thought of someone’s life draining away by his hand, even in that physical way, and froze.

During that time, he learned what could happen if he revived a creature that still had a fatal wound. A cat he found, pinned by a piece of metal through its side, dead. It was deliberate, not accidental, and Will wondered what burgeoning serial killer was lurking in the neighbourhood. He pulled life from the area and gave it to the cat, somehow expecting it to just pull itself off the metal. It didn’t. It woke and screamed in pain, tortured once again. Will, horrified, pulled the life out of it again, and carefully worked the metal piece out.

When he revived the cat this time, it was fine, but still seemed distressed by its experience. Will wondered if the cat preferred to live with it, or would have preferred to stay dead.

He decided a change of careers would be for the best, but he still wanted a place to use his skills. Becoming a profiler for the FBI seemed easy. Use his skills for bodies, wouldn’t have to worry as much about everything else.

Unfortunately, it didn’t work out quite like he’d hoped, but at least he was doing _something._ _Those who can’t do, teach_ \- and those who _could_ do, but not in a reliably stable fashion, apparently also taught.

He had almost convinced himself that he’d be happy with that life until Jack Crawford barged in dangling field work in his face. Despite how much he disliked the feeling of killers inside his head, of acting out their  _ designs _ to catch them, he couldn’t deny himself the chance to  _ help _ .  _ Really _ help, not just help by proxy though his students. 

It was kneeling over Abigail Hobbs, his mind simultaneously blank and full, that he first tried to pull life to someone still alive from someone dying.  _ See? See? _ said Hobbs, and Will  _ pulled _ his remaining life and poured it into his daughter. But his control was all over the place, she was healing but not fast enough and not where it mattered most. 

It was another hand that delivered her from the clutches of death that day.

And it was sitting next to her in the hospital that he thought it might be something of a reversal of what her father had wanted to do. She would carry a piece of her father’s life within her until she died.

When he had hallucinations, they played havoc on his mind, but at least nothing else happened. His constant fear had been that he would bring something - or  _ someone _ \- back from the dead accidentally, without thinking about the price. 

His lowest point was when he thought he’d actually done it, hallucinating a Garrett Hobbs he could actually touch and talk to. That he’d somehow found it logical he could have raised Hobbs’ rotting corpse all the way from Minnesota just showed how far gone he’d been.

There were many times, in jail and after, that he thought about just pulling Hannibal’s life out. What a surprise it would have been for him. To feel his life suddenly draining away with no explanation. Maybe he’d be in the middle of cooking, or seeing a patient, and just collapse.

Will was never exactly sure what stayed his hand in those days. He’d certainly wanted Hannibal dead, but somehow he’d never taken the most expedient route to do it. 

The first time he used it as a weapon was against Randall Tier. He wouldn’t have won otherwise. Randall was younger, stronger and had a suit of bone. But Will held his youth, his vitality and _pulled_ , sapping him. He had  _ seen _ him, felt him when he looked at his kills, but not like that night, when he breathed in his savagery and gave it back with his fists. He wondered if consuming part of Randall’s soul made him more of a cannibal than Hannibal was. Not only eating the meat, but consuming his very life.

It was lying on the floor of Hannibal’s kitchen, reaching out to a dying Abigail that he realized what this strange ability of his would do to keep him alive. Hannibal had maybe not meant to kill him, and perhaps he wouldn’t have died either way, but Will also knew that Hannibal was…hurt. Deeply. His wound was a slow but lethal one, and Hannibal had perhaps left his life up to fate.

But fate was not in charge of whether Will Graham lived or died. As he lay there, his hand ineffectually grasping her, he felt himself start to clutch at the edges of her life and draw it towards him. Ensuring he would stay alive.  _ No, no!  _ he’d cried.  _ Not her. Give it back to her! Let her live… _

But she hadn’t. And in some part of his rage was a deep guilt. Hannibal had meant her to die, maybe meant both of them to die, but who knows what would have happened without him pulling from her? That poor, bright young soul, twisted by every father she’d ever had, and snuffed out after all she’d survived.

Will felt sick touching anyone’s life after that. It was mostly just in his head, but he felt like the shards of her were weight in his gut, scraping at him. At the time, the thought of carrying Hannibal around like that was sickening too.

When Hannibal tried to saw through his skull, the drugs made the experience very fuzzy. He thought  _ this is it. This is how I finally go.  _ The drugs made his mind too addled to pull consciously.

At Muskrat Farm, he oscillated between angry and resigned. He’d go from close to just yanking the life out of everyone and everything there and to hell with it, and thinking maybe he should just give up. The fight lasted all the way until Hannibal saved him. He was never sure if he was more grateful or more angry he didn’t break.

He felt weaker as the years went by. It wasn’t like he used…  _ that _ in a concrete way often, but after it was all over, he stopped using it at all. Sometimes as he walked through the fields in Wolf Trap, he used to pull the life from the grass and then push it back again, leaving a small imprint where he had walked, killing and reviving the grass. Perhaps even that small movement of life was necessary for his health.

It was hard to care. He withdrew from everything except the normal life he felt he wanted for so long. Learned to look away, to ignore; learned not to feel or pull. Tried to feel less awake in the world, looking only at his wife and adopted son.

Then, a dragon stirred, and with him, Will was forced from his slumber.


	2. The Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They fall. Hannibal dies. Will might have wanted to kill Hannibal many times, but he'd never quite thought about what would happen after Hannibal was dead.

When he pulled them over the cliff, it was not quite the dying gasp of his socially acceptable morality, but it was close. And in some ways, he thought they were already dead. He’d already pulled life from the trees and bushes on the cliff just to make it through the fight, and Hannibal’s wounds were severe. Maybe he could let them both escape into death, maybe he would die this time.

But of course, it didn’t happen like that. 

Will felt Hannibal die when they hit the water, Hannibal taking the brunt of the impact. Will tried to stay contained, to not take any life, to just finally,  _ finally _ sleep, but of course whatever it was inside him didn’t let him. It  _ pulled _ into him, reaching farther than he ever had to find life away from the desolate bluff and lifeless water. In that moment, clutching Hannibal’s body as he struggled to the surface, Will felt a scream work its way up his throat. He had dreamt of killing Hannibal in a thousand ways, even prepared himself to watch it this time, but now that it was done -  _ and by his hand _ \- something within him rebelled. 

To have known him, hated him, loved him,  _ killed  _ him and then to continue living suddenly seemed like the worst kind of torture.

He dragged the two of them up on a rock above the waves. He touched Hannibal’s face and felt grief well up. As many times as he imagined killing Hannibal, he’d never imagined what it would be like for him to be dead. No, he couldn’t leave him like this. He would bring Hannibal back, and decide what to do from there. 

Will could have reached out and pulled from farther and farther away, but he was exhausted and could barely focus. He could apparently go to great lengths for himself, but his mistake with Abigail, he thought, was that he wanted to give all of his life to heal her completely. Something within him, the source of this strange ability, would never allow him to die.

But he was healthy enough at the moment, having drained everything around them dry. His cheek was still bleeding, but he was fine. He would live. And once he got somewhere safe, Hannibal would live.

Will looked around, seeing nothing but high bluffs. He would have to swim, and hope for the best. Either direction was as good as any, so he picked the way that had another flat rock similar to the one they were on in the distance. At least he could see a place to rest. 

Will arranged Hannibal on his back and tied Hannibal’s arms around his shoulders with a scrap of cloth from his shirt. He was freezing cold and soaking wet.

On the plus side, it wasn’t like he could die from hypothermia, and Hannibal was currently dead so what did he care about the cold.

He swam and swam, keeping the rock, his goal, in his sights. The outline was slightly illuminated by the moon. His head was empty of everything except the rock and keeping his head above the water. 

When they reached it he almost couldn’t haul them onto it. He ended up untying Hannibal and shoving up him roughly, then crawling after him.

He laid there and stared at Hannibal’s corpse in the moonlight. The grief almost choked him again. He swallowed against it and turned his head to the sky instead. 

He didn’t feel himself fall asleep, but when he woke the sky was starting to show hints of pre-dawn grey. He could see dead some fish floating in the water, and wondered how it would be explained away.

His ears pricked as he heard a noise, the motor of a boat. He forced himself up and looked towards the sound. A small boat for the ocean, probably an early morning fisherman, but at least it had a small covered area. Probably some food and spare clothes, maybe even a first aid kit. Will could see a man at the wheel, and older guy with a grey beard and scraggly hair. The kind of man his dad might have become, had he lived long enough.

Will knew he’d have to kill him. Not only to escape, but to bring Hannibal back. He’d killed, but he hadn’t killed someone innocent yet. He glanced again at Hannibal’s corpse and steeled his resolve. It had to be done.

He stumbled to his feet and waved and shouted, catching the man’s attention almost instantly. He pulled the boat up warily.

Will schooled his expression into earnest relief and frantic worry. “Hey man, I’m so glad to see you. My friend got so drunk last night he stumbled off the cliff! I climbed down after him, but he’s in a bad way,” he shouted over the waves. 

The man’s expression shifted to something between pity and exasperation. Will could almost hear his thoughts -  _ Idiots, drinking so close to the bluff _ \- but he brought the boat closer.

Will caught the rope tossed to him and used it to help pull the boat closer. It nudged against the rocks under the surface, but the boat was by now close enough to jump. The man reached out a hand to help Will over and when Will gripped it, he pulled the life from the man. He tugged the man’s now lifeless body towards him and off the boat, his head smashing against the rock before falling to float on the sea. He didn’t let himself look at the body.

He tugged the rope again, bringing the boat probably a little too high on the rocks, but it wasn’t his boat and he wasn’t planning to keep it for long. He coiled the rope around his arm, then he reached down to haul Hannibal up onto the boat. 

It was tough. This whole night had been tough. He had used his...thing this way before, to push himself past his physical limit, but never so long. When they were both finally,  _ finally _ up on the boat, Will collapsed for a moment. He held the dead man’s life in him, and could have used it for energy, but he held back. It wasn’t for him, it was for Hannibal. 

But not yet. He needed more than one old man’s life to bring him back. Hannibal had been dead for hours. 

He forced himself up. He checked the boat - lots of gas left, good. It meant the man hadn’t come far, which meant there was probably a town or at least a waterfront somewhere. He could find someone else to  _ take _ .

Deep down, Will knew that even though he still felt somewhat adrift, he’d finally made up his mind. Hannibal’s death had changed something that nothing else had. If he couldn’t kill him, couldn’t let him die, well then he guessed he’d better find a way to live with him. 

He wasn’t planning to make it easy though. Hannibal could work to win his favor as he was for once instead of trying to change him.

Will went back to Hannibal’s body and dragged him under the small covered area near the stern. There was no bed - this wasn’t that kind of boat - but there was a wide, roughly constructed bench that Will bet the man used for taking naps. He pulled Hannibal up onto it, and stripped his body. It was harder than expected, stripping a corpse. Afterwards, he laid the wet clothes out on the deck to dry, and rummaged around in the supplies on the boat and found a blanket. He tossed it over Hannibal - he didn’t need it now, but he’d need it later, after he was alive.

He could see Hannibal’s body in his periphery as he restarted the motor. It was a quieter than he expected from such a rickety-looking boat, but maybe the old man took better care of the inside than the outside. Before he started moving the boat, he looked at the ring on his left hand. After only a moment’s consideration, he took it off and threw it into the water.

Better for her that she thought him dead. 

He backed the boat up and away from the rocks slowly, and turned the boat around. He wanted to get more distance between them and the house on the bluff now that it was almost dawn. He had swam pretty far the night before, but he could still see a bit of the house. If he could see it then Jack, if and when he found the house, could see them. 

For a long while there was just him, the sound of the motor and the sea, until finally he saw another boat in the distance.

It was pretty likely that whoever was on that boat knew the man who used to own this one, and that meant that Will would have to kill him regardless. He headed for the other boat, and as he neared he could see the silhouette of someone fishing. He decided not to get too close, and just yanked the life out of him from afar. The man toppled forward into the water.

Will took a deep breath. It was time, and this would be easier without him having to haul Hannibal’s corpse everywhere. Plus, Hannibal probably had fifty escape plans in place. Will rolled his eyes. He was choosing to live with a manipulative, cannibalistic serial killer who also had an annoying tendency to choreograph his entire life for the sake of artistry. 

If it was Hannibal who could raise the dead, he might have waited until the sun just touched the horizon, so he could see Will wake bathed in the golden light of the rising sun. Since it was Will, he just shoved the life of the two men he’d killed at him in the grey pre-dawn light. He didn’t look, just kept his eye on the horizon as he pushed the boat forward.

He heard Hannibal’s first harsh intake of air, and saw him roll over to cough and vomit the water out of his lungs. After the noises stopped, Hannibal laid back again.

Hannibal’s weak, scratchy voice carried to him on the wind, barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of the motor, “We lived.”

Will looked at him. “We lived.”

Will watched Hannibal slowly examined himself, felt the gunshot wound, now scabbed over, and looked at Will’s cheek, also scabbed over. He took in Will’s shirt, dyed a light pink from mixing blood with water, the bottom torn where he’d taken strips from it earlier.

He asked, “How long was I unconscious?”

Will ran his tongue across his teeth and said nothing. He would have to tell him eventually, but he didn’t have the words in that moment. He’d never told  _ anyone _ . 

Instead, he said, “Jack’s going to find the house sooner or later. I’m going to get us to a pier or harbor or something, and then  _ you _ are going to get us out of the country.”

“I have some stops I need to make first,” Hannibal said mildly.

Will glared. “Let me be clear. You said your compassion for me is inconvenient, and it’s going to inconvenience you now and for the foreseeable future when it comes to your revenge plans. You leave them alone and you get to leave with me. You kill them...”  _ and you don’t get to leave with me  _ is left hanging unsaid. “Choose.”

Hannibal hummed like he was actually weighing his options, but Will knew he’d already chosen. As much as it would please Hannibal to keep his promises, not killing Alana and the rest would be its own kind of torture for them. They’d spend the rest of their lives looking over their shoulders, even if it was assumed they were dead. Given that, and given what he’d gain by giving up the chance to kill them, there was no question in Will’s mind what he’d choose.

“Not even Bedelia?” Hannibal tempted.

Will looked away. If he was being honest, he’d love to kill Bedelia. “Does your escape plan involve going back to Baltimore?”

“It could be arranged.”

“...It would let them know that we’re still alive,” Will said. “I’m sure they’ll at least tentatively assume we’re dead and just haven’t washed up yet. It would be cleaner not to.”

Hannibal smiled. “But you want to.”

“I want to,” Will confirmed. “...But not right now.”

“It will be harder to come back then it would be to do it on the way.” Hannibal said.

Will looked at him and said dryly, “It’ll be harder to enjoy life together always having to look over our shoulders if they confirm we’re alive. Bedelia will keep.”

Their conversation died as the sun breached the horizon. Hannibal pushed himself up to look, seeming content to leave both the subject of how they lived and Bedelia for now.

“I have another house we can go to,” Hannibal finally said.

“And then?” he asked.

“And then out of the country.” Hannibal said. “We’ll stay at the house while I make arrangements. Long enough for the the dogs to be firmly off our scent.”

Dogs. Will thought of his dogs and ached at leaving them behind. But Molly would take care of them, and it wasn’t like he could take them.

Hannibal was giving up his revenge, Will supposed it was only fitting he gave something up too. He wondered if those things were of equal importance in their minds.

They sat in silence as the boat cut through the water, listening to the sound of the motor and the waves. Will was sure Hannibal was reminiscing on the lost bottle of wine back at the house, and wishing he could be drinking it now.

Will once again resigned himself to living with this ridiculous, pretentious man. He could tell his continual urge to strangle Hannibal would be tempered only with the memory of how terrible him actually being dead had felt. He could only hope he’d get used to Hannibal’s more obnoxious qualities with more exposure. 

They didn’t stop at the first pier they saw because there were too many people. They still had a lot of gas, and on the boat they were fairly safe. Will decided to keep going for a while longer.

As the sun rose higher in the sky, changing it from dawn gold and pink to daytime blue, Will started to feel his own exhaustion more and more. He had stopped pulling life into himself when he brought Hannibal back, not wanting to accidentally take something from him, and now he was feeling the fact that he’d been pushing himself past his limits a little too long. 

“Hannibal,” he said breaking the silence. 

Hannibal looked away from the waves and smiled at him, like he was delighted to hear his own name from Will’s lips. “Yes, Will.”

“Can you drive the boat? I need to sleep or I’ll be useless later.” Something inside Will had a hard time asking Hannibal for help, like a trained reaction, a remnant of his animosity. He shoved it down for now. They were going to run away together, he could work out any residual anger when they were safe.

Hannibal stood and wrapped the blanket around his waist. He stretched subtly, just a slight roll of his neck, the extension of his wrists. He stepped beside Will and looked at the controls. “Yes, I believe I can manage.”

Will nodded and stepped past him. He also wanted to finally change out of his clothes, although they were now barely wet from the last hours drying in the sun and wind. He rummaged through the shelves and found a spare pair of pants and a spare shirt. He carefully set his own pants and underwear to dry more in the sun, but didn’t bother with the shirt. It was definitely a lost cause.

He laid down on the bench. It was hard, but he’d slept on worse. He turned his head to look at Hannibal, drinking in the sight of him alive before closing his eyes.

When he woke they were docked, and the sun was starting to sink in the sky. He guessed late afternoon. 

The dock was empty. A lonely abandoned pier, probably used to be near a small town that didn’t exist anymore. Hannibal wasn’t there, but his clothes were gone so Will suspected he was arranging transportation.

He tamped down the anxiety he felt at Hannibal not being there.

He got up and stretched, then changed into his now-dry pants and underwear. He looked around and wondered what they were going to do with the boat. If they found his shirt, they’ve be able to tell it was his, and their prints were all over. Will was sure Jack was going to be as thorough as possible, and having a boat turn up belonging to a dead fisherman within reach of where the Dragon died? That was going to be suspicious.

Now that he was awake he felt starving. He looked through the storage again and found what was probably supposed to have been the old man’s lunch. He scarfed it down and drank some of the cold coffee he found in a thermos. 

He gazed out at the ocean as he waited.

When the sky was starting to turn sunset gold, he heard the sound of a car. He tensed and then relaxed. Somehow he just knew it was Hannibal. Maybe it was because he’d brought him back to life, but he could feel Hannibal’s life like a flame. He’d never really been able to identify particular people, even when he knew them well. It was new and somehow comforting.

When he finally heard footsteps on the boat deck, he turned with a small smile. Hannibal had, of course, somehow acquired a new shirt. At least it wasn’t a whole suit, Will supposed. There was probably one in the car though.

He looked behind him on the gravel road running away from the pier to see a beat up old Beemer parked.

“Not your usual style,” Will remarked.

“Last time I didn’t care who followed me, this time I do. They won’t be finding us with any Tartufi Bianchi, nor any of the other things they expect. A clean getaway is the goal, after all,” Hannibal said.

“It’s still European,” Will said, giving Hannibal a look.

Hannibal lips quirked. “Yes, well. We’re not quite so desperate that I would have to resort to a Ford.”

“Hey, I had a Ford once.”

“And when I met you, you had an incredibly ugly Volvo. I don’t hold your taste in cars in particularly high regard.” Hannibal’s tone was mildly scathing, but there was still a small smile playing at his lips.

Will leaned his head back couldn’t help but laugh. When he looked at Hannibal again, there was a look in his eye like he was drinking in the sight of Will, hardly believing what he saw. 

“Hey,” Will said, softer. “I’m here. I guess your teacup came together again after all.”

Hannibal huffed a laugh, “Took it long enough.”

Will moved to disembark and asked, “What are we doing about this boat anyway?”

“We’re going to sink it.”


	3. Alone Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This fic is mostly talking and thinking, and this chapter has a lot of talking and thinking.

To sink the boat, they cut large holes in it under the water line, then locked the throttle at the highest speed pointed directly out to sea. It would go until it ran out of gas, and eventually sink. Even if it didn’t sink completely, it should be far enough away that no one would connect it to either the fisherman Will stole it from, or this pier.

Will watched it strain against the ropes securing it to the pier for a moment, before moving to untie them. After untying the first one, the boat sped forward like a shot, ripping the top of pier post it was secured to off with it. It wasn’t quite ‘directly out to sea’ since the angle was thrown off a bit, but good enough.

He followed Hannibal to the car, where Hannibal took the driver’s seat. 

“You sure you’re ok to drive? You haven’t slept,” Will said.

“Haven’t I?” asked Hannibal. “I must have slept for quite a while, we’re very far from where we killed the Dragon.”

Will wondered if it worked like that. Did being dead refresh the mind the way sleep did? He didn’t think being dead and then brought back to life sounded particularly restful, but what did he know? He’d never died.

He also knew that Hannibal was not-so-subtly prodding him for information. Hannibal being unconscious or asleep didn’t fit with the other pieces of the puzzle, like their mostly healed wounds, or why  _ Hannibal _ had missed hours but Will had apparently not. 

Will said nothing. He still didn’t know how to explain it.

Hannibal seemed content to wait him out once again, though Will had a feeling he wouldn’t wait a third time. Instead, he reached to turn on the radio. He fiddled with it, before finally landing, as expected, on an AM classical music station. Will sighed and settled back into his seat closing his eyes again.

This time when he woke up it was full dark, and the car was parked in front of what was less a house and more of a cabin. It looked significantly more rustic than he was expecting. 

“We’ve arrived,” Hannibal said.

Will looked at him. “Are you sure you can manage roughing it here?”

“I have been living in a cell for three years, Will. Roughing it will be a luxury. Also, appearances can be deceiving,” Hannibal said, amused. “The inside is significantly nicer than the outside.”

Will muttered, “Of course it is,” and opened the door.

The inside was indeed significantly nicer than the outside. Cozier than he had come to expect from Hannibal, maybe, but as elegantly stylish as anywhere else he’d lived. The cabin had a living room, fireplace, a modern kitchen, and two bedrooms on the upper floor. The large windows in the living room looked out over the porch and yard. Beyond that, a forest surrounded them except for the narrow gravel road they’d come in on.

Hannibal brought in the food from the car, and began making dinner. Will watched him, thinking about all the other times he’d seen Hannibal cook. At least, Will thought, whatever it was most likely didn’t contain anything human this time. Hannibal hadn’t really had enough time or resources for that. Will was quite sure that long pig would be back on the menu once they’d settled somewhere, but he figured he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

The thought didn’t bother him as much as it definitely should, but then again, he knew what he was getting into deciding to go with Hannibal. He’d already changed as much as he probably would for Will, so Will was going to end up meeting him halfway.  _ That _ thought didn’t bother him as much as it probably should either.

There was a certain freedom in finally choosing this. When he chose to reject Hannibal despite feeling like they were practically inside each other’s skins, there was always the option of changing his mind. Now that he’d accepted him, there would be no going back, especially once he told Hannibal about his…thing. He was sure that if he tried to leave again, Hannibal would either make him stay or find a way to kill him. If anyone could figure out how to do that, it would be him.

Hannibal turned and set a plate in front of him, jarring him out of his thoughts. 

“Something simple, for a simple place,” he said. “Ground beef chuck with tomato, mint, and a feta-yogurt sauce served with country bread.”

Will gave him a look of exasperation, “You could just say ‘fancy hamburgers,’ Hannibal. It would take less time.”

“Must you ruin my fun?” Hannibal said, expression fond.

“You’ll just have to get used to it,” Will shot back.

“I suppose we’ll both get used to each other.” Hannibal looked delighted at the prospect.

Will found himself grinning back, then began to eat.

After dinner, Will washed the dishes while Hannibal watched. He felt that if they were going to live together as equals, as they had been equals killing the dragon on the bluff, they should work together in other ways too. So, Hannibal cooked and Will cleaned.

They moved to the small living room area and Will started a fire. Hannibal got out a bottle of whiskey he had likely purchased with Will in mind, and poured Will a glass, handing it to him before pouring his own. It was reminiscent of how he poured the wine for them just last night. Before the dragon came. Before Hannibal had died. Before Will had changed his mind.

After a long silence, Hannibal said, “Are you ready to talk about what happened last night, Will?”

Will took a shaky breath. “Why don’t you tell me what you think happened?”

“I think you took us over the edge hoping we would die together. So you wouldn’t have to choose between me and the old life you no longer fit into. And yet, here we are, alive. I must confess, the ideas I have on how don’t seem to fit with reality as I know it.”

Will wondered if not knowing how something happened was a novel experience, or if Hannibal was just used to it when it came to Will. After all, he didn’t think Hannibal had expected to fall in love with him. 

He sat in the chair and gazed at his murky reflection in his whiskey. 

Finally, he said, “When I was fourteen my dad died. I came home from school and he was lying there, cold and still. He must have been dead for hours. Don’t know what from, but he’d been drinking a lot. I panicked. I just wanted him to be alive again more than anything and then suddenly he was.” Will sipped some whiskey. “And then I found all the grass and trees around our property were dead, and so was our next door neighbour. Young guy, no health problems, just drops dead in the middle of the afternoon.”

Hannibal absorbed that story for a long moment. “You brought your father back to life by taking life from somewhere else.”

Will exhaled loudly through his nose. “Yeah, pretty much. I was afraid, but I learned how to feel for it, if only to prevent myself from doing it again accidentally.”

Hannibal stood and set his glass aside. “Show me.”

Will finished his glass, and stood up to walk outside. In the yard, surrounded by grass, he stopped to face Hannibal, now standing at the door with a look of curiosity.

He breathed in and  _ pulled _ , just a little bit. Enough to make the grass turn brown and brittle in a circle around him. Then he breathed out and put it back, making the grass spring up, just as green and alive as it had been before. A small display, but enough.

Hannibal had clearly prepared himself not to react, but still there was something in his dark gaze that Will still couldn’t help but shudder away from. Having such intense emotion directed at him without restraint was still uncomfortable. 

“What happened when you pulled us off the bluff, Will?”

“You died,” Will said bluntly. “And I didn’t die because I can never seem to die, whatever this is keeps me alive no matter what I want. And when I felt you die I realized that as awful as we’ve been to each other, and as much as I tried to forget you, feeling you die was worse than anything you ever did to me.”

Hannibal smiled. “And so, you brought me back.”

“Yes,” Will said. “I took the life from the fisherman whose boat we were on and another fisherman we encountered on the way. I pulled it from them, and I gave it to you.”

“And experiencing my death made you decide to stay with me,” Hannibal mused.

“I guess if I can’t stand to see you dead, I may as well find a way to live with you.” Will bit his lip. “No point ignoring you now that I’ve finally been forced to realize how much I apparently care about you.”

“Oh, Will,” Hannibal said, linking arms with him to pull them inside. “Don’t fret. We can keep each other’s hearts safe now.”

“Will you?” Will looked at him. “Will you keep my heart safe?”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“I’m trying to. I know you’ve changed how you…relate to me. You spent three years in a concrete box so I would be able to find you if I needed you. But I feel like I haven’t had enough time to get used to this you yet. The you that decided to cage himself rather than kill me for my rejection.” Will sat back in his chair and looked into the fire rather than at Hannibal.

“Hard to trust a man who only stopped sawing your head open because we were kidnapped, even if I saved you afterwards,” Hannibal said.

“Yeah,” Will said, voice barely above a whisper.

“You’ve trusted me with large secret, something I suspect no one in the world knows about you. Give me time to convince you that trusting me with your heart is not a mistake.”

“Do you ever regret trusting me with your heart?” Will asked, glancing at Hannibal.

Hannibal also turned to him and smiled. “I thought I did. To offer myself wholly to someone and be rejected was a pain I’ve experienced, but never expected to again. But I see now I was just too impatient. You killed me, and then brought me back to life. I could have asked for no greater demonstration from you, nor could I have ever anticipated or planned for it. I find I cannot regret anything that happened between us now, as it was all necessary to lead us to that moment.”

Will didn’t reply, feeling heavy and warm. He didn’t know what could be said in the weight of such certainty of feeling. He still had a lot of regrets.

“So, what comes next?” Will asked.

“Next, we wait,” Hannibal said.

“Wait for Jack to at least hope we might be dead,” Will said.

“That and there are a few things I have to arrange for our departure.”

“Documents,” Will said. “What, you don’t keep a set on hand?”

“Even if I could have kept false documents for myself easily available after three years and having already used some to get to Europe once, I would need to get some for you.” Hannibal quirked his lip. “You must think me omnipotent. I can only calculate from what I see, and this was something unforeseeable.”

“Well, glad I could surprise and amuse I suppose. I guess I do sometimes see you as something more than human. The things you’ve done...you’ve certainly got the devil’s luck.”

“If either of us is more than human Will it must be you. Taking and giving life at will. More akin to a god,” Hannibal said.

Will laughed. “Are you really trying to inspire a literal god complex in me at this stage? I’m not a god. I’m just Will Graham.”

“And Will Graham is very special, in a myriad of ways,” Hannibal said. “In more ways than even I knew.”

He cleared his throat. “So, documents. And where are we going? Don’t say Europe.”

“For now, I was thinking Japan. My aunt left me a house there.”

Will frowns. “Won’t we stand out just a little bit?”

“In the same way any tourists do, I suppose, but I doubt anyone will think to look closer,” Hannibal said. “It’s a resort town with summer homes for the wealthy. Popular with tourists, but mostly tourists from Asia. As famous as I am in America and perhaps to some extent Europe, I was barely a blip on the radar in most countries there.”

“Do you really think they’re not going to write anything now that you’ve escaped?” Will asked skeptically.

“Maybe a brief article, if the American media thinks we’re alive, but I doubt it will come with a picture.” Hannibal sounded very sure. 

Will wondered if it galled him that he wasn’t world famous, although he knew Hannibal didn’t particularly appreciate the way the media talked about him. Maybe if they were just talking about the brutal and mysterious Chesapeake Ripper, he’d enjoy it, but not the kitschy ‘Hannibal the Cannibal’ crap.

He wondered how that pun worked in other languages, or if they thought up something else equally awful.

“We won’t be able to stay there forever,” Hannibal continued, “the house wasn’t made to be lived in through the winter. Even if we could make ourselves comfortable, it would draw attention to stay. But it will give us time to consider where to go next.”

Will nodded, his eyelids heavy.

Hannibal looked at him, expression fond. “It’s late and it’s been a long day after a long night for you. Any planning will keep until the morning at least.”

Will climbed into the bed Hannibal showed him, and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

When he woke, it was to the smell of breakfast. He stretched with a wide grin on his face. He was sure Hannibal was enjoying cooking for him again. He showered and changed into the clothes he found in the bag at the foot of the bed, a T-shirt and sweatpants.

He padded into the kitchen and saw Hannibal in front of the stove. He looked clean and fresh, like all the years of imprisonment had just washed down the drain together with the sea salt. He turned as Will walked in, and smiled.

“Good morning,” Hannibal said.

“Morning.” He took a deep breath, enjoying the smell of the food. “What’s for breakfast?” he asked as he sat.

“Thought I’d go with an old standby for a new beginning. Protein scramble.”

Will lifted an eyebrow. “With significantly less people sausage than last time, I guess.”

“Yes,” Hannibal said, “there will be a time when I can have my preferred meat in the future, but now is not the time.”

“You want us to kill together again.” It wasn’t a question.

“Of course. Now that we have, I want to experience it again.”

Will gave him a look. “You might have to narrow your victim pool a bit more. I know who I like to kill and it’s not people whose only crime is being  _ rude _ .”

“You killed the two fisherman.”

“Who were as far as I know neither rude nor bad, and honestly I would feel really guilty if it hadn’t been necessary to bring you back to life. But I’m not going to make a habit of it.”

“Well, I suppose your righteousness is very charming,” Hannibal said. “Regardless, we have time. The reason no one caught me was because - before you - I was careful. There were years and years of distance between anything connecting me to my victims. The fact that Miriam Lass was able to connect me even vaguely with Jeremy Olmstead was a stroke of incredible luck and something I learned from.”

“You sure you can wait?” Will asked mockingly.

“Can you?” Hannibal retorted.

Will conceded the point. If he came across someone he knew was doing something bad, it would be hard to wait years to kill them, to allow them to keep hurting people for all that time. “I guess we’ll just have to hold each other back then.”

“A constant reminder of what we have to lose,” Hannibal said. “I will have no problems. The knowledge that we will one day hunt together will sustain me.” Hannibal huffed a laugh. “And I suppose if the urge strikes you, you could always kill me and bring me back.”

“And kill someone else to bring you back.”

“Kill someone else and leave no evidence because you were never actually there. Enjoy the physicality of it with me without the consequences.”

Will pursed his lips, “You know I’m not going to take an innocent life just to satisfy an urge, Hannibal. Plus, I’m not going to kill you again. Not for any reason.”

“Why not? You’ve been there done that,” Hannibal said.

“Yeah, and it was so awful I decided to run away with you. No. I’m not going to kill you again,” he repeated.

Hannibal’s face was blank, but Will could feel something churning underneath. “Shall I trick you into saying it thrice, to bind you to your promise?”

Will glared at him. “I’m not some kind of fae creature, either. But if it makes you feel better: I’m not going to kill you again.”

Hannibal turned to plate the food. “You don’t know what you are. You can’t say with any surety what you are or aren’t.”

“Yes,” Will said through clenched teeth, “I can. Now stop that.”

“I’m sorry Will but I do enjoy games and you have become a refreshing puzzle. This may be yet another thing you will just have to get used to.” Hannibal set the plate in front of him. 

Will sighed as he picked up his fork. “I supposed I can’t ask a lion to stop kneading me with his claws, even if he enjoys my company. At least you’re not batting me around anymore.”

“I would not object,” Hannibal said, “to you ‘kneading me with your claws’ in return. I’m not the only lion in the room, after all.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Then Will stuffed some egg and sausage into his mouth so he wouldn’t say any more.

He wasn’t looking forward to Hannibal clawing at the edges of his skull again, but he supposed it was something he had to accept. And maybe it would help. Hannibal had always tried to help his patients in his own way, it’s just that his treatments tended to move people closer to what he thought would be their best self, which was very different from what was socially acceptable.

Then again, Hannibal wasn’t socially acceptable in general. Will wasn’t either.

Hannibal broke the silence. “If you want to stop me from taking stabs in the dark, perhaps you could tell me this ability of yours, Will.”

Will swallowed the food in his mouth. “There’s not much to tell. I don’t know why or how. I just know it works.”

“When you take life from something, what does it feel like?”

“Like... pulling. It’s a unique sensation. Not physical, not like using your hands to pull something, but not entirely mental either.”

Hannibal hummed. “Life is a unique force in the world. You’re lucky to be able to perceive it so clearly. And what did bringing me back feel like?”

Will took a shaky breath and rasped, “It felt like the greatest gift I’ve ever given someone.”

“Even though you killed two innocent men to do it?”

Will paused for a moment, not wanting to say it. “...Yes.” It was hardly more than a hushed exhale, but he knew Hannibal heard it. 

Hannibal smiled, satisfied.


	4. An Ordinary Murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will wants to find out what the outside world thinks about their escape. Someone ends up dead.

Will whiled away the hours of the day slowly. He and Hannibal moved around each other in their shared space somewhat tentatively, not used to living together, still feeling out how the other had changed in the past three years. But Will was sure they would settle soon, they both wanted this too much to do otherwise.

“Does this place have a TV?” Will asked.

“No,” Hannibal said. “Nor internet. It’s somewhat off the grid, except for electricity and water, of course.”

Will nodded. “I want to check the news,” he said. “I know you’re working on our escape plan, but we need to know what they think happened to us to know exactly what we should do.”

“Of course,” Hannibal said. “There’s town not far from here. We can exchange the license plate on the car while we’re there.”

“Let’s wait until nightfall then. Less chance of being recognized.”

“If you like,” Hannibal said.

Will squinted at him. There was something off in how Hannibal was acting, but he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. That tiny twitch of expression, a crinkling around the eyes that said Hannibal was feeling cheerful without really showing it. Was it just Will’s desire to go out together? Was it something else…?

He assumed Hannibal wouldn’t do anything at this point to actually put them at any real risk, so Will decided to just leave it be. What was the worst that could happen?

Well, he guessed probably the very worst by most people’s standards would be that someone might die, but Will wasn’t necessarily feeling adverse to that, as long as they didn’t get caught.

At dusk, Will drove them into town. Hannibal was slightly dressed down, still wearing clothes about ten times more expensive then anything Will owned, but not as noticeable as one of his suits. They stopped at a gas station first and filled up. Will paid inside so he could grab a newspaper. There were cameras all over the station, so if someone managed to track them here, paying at the pump wouldn’t make much of a difference. 

Then he drove to a grimy, dimly lit bar on the main road. There was no one outside, so before they entered he changed the license plate on their car for one of the others parked in front. 

Inside were several older TV screens mostly showing a variety of sports, but one was set to a news station. The bar was too loud to hear the sound, so Will kept an eye on the scrolling news under the announcer as he ordered a beer for himself and Hannibal. 

Hannibal didn’t really like beer, but the goal was to blend in, and plus this bar was likely to have shit wine anyway. He could suck it up.

They stayed for a while, sitting at one of the bar’s narrow tables, Will pretending to watch one of the nearby TVs showing a baseball game but actually eyeing the screen with the news. Hannibal seemed more interested in watching the other people at the bar, but Will supposed it hadn’t been his idea to come. Maybe he didn’t think it was necessary.

Whatever segment the announcer was giving finished, and then switched to a new one. One that was apparently about them, since their faces were being shown on screen. Will’s blood rushed in his ears and he automatically tensed, then forced himself to relax. 

Hannibal glanced at the screen and smiled slightly. Will looked back at the picture and realized why. It wasn’t a mug shot or a picture of him in his prison jumpsuit, but one probably from his court days. He looked good. Will rolled his eyes at Hannibal’s vanity and looked away. 

In the corner, something caught his eye. There was a man staring at them. He was trying to look like he wasn’t, but his eyes flickered rapidly between his beer and their table, like he couldn’t help glancing at them. His posture was tense, even though he had three empty glasses on his table and was probably well on his way to being drunk.

“Ah,” Hannibal said. “Yes, that one in the corner. I believe he’s recognized us.”

Will stared at Hannibal incredulously. “And when were you going to mention we’d been spotted, exactly?”

“When it became a problem,” Hannibal said placidly. “Relax, Will. I’ve been keeping an eye on him. He hasn’t touched his phone, and I’m fairly sure he’s drunk enough that he’s second guessing himself.”

“It’s still a problem,” Will tensely whispered. “If he remembers tomorrow. If someone else notices us, especially with _our faces on-_ ”

“You could quite easily solve this problem,” Hannibal interrupted him, looking entirely too unconcerned about the situation. “Take his life. Given the angle he’s sitting at, he’s likely to fall out of his chair, prompting others to check on him. It would serve as a sufficient distraction for us to slip out.”

Will frowned at him and quaffed the rest of his drink. “This was why you were so cheerful earlier. You thought something like this would happen.”

“It crossed my mind that if we went into town for any significantly length of time that someone might recognize us, yes.”

“And you didn’t say anything because you wanted me to be forced into a situation where I would kill someone to protect us. No,” Will contemplated, “Not just kill. You wanted to see me pull the life from someone.”

“Can you blame me?” said Hannibal. “Your trick with the grass was sufficient proof that this power of yours exists, but of course I want to see it in action.”

Will sighed. “You couldn’t have just asked me to find rabbit or something?”

The edges of Hannibal’s mouth moved up into a grin. “Well this is more entertaining. I deemed the risk of widespread discovery to be very minimal.”

Will glared, more annoyed that he still couldn’t tell when Hannibal was plotting than he was at the manipulation itself. He glanced over at the man in the corner. Will felt around the edges of his life, taking hold of it and just weighting it. Seeing how much there was. 

He looked Hannibal in the eyes and bit out, “Fine.” Then he yanked the life from the man. Hannibal’s eyes cut sideways to watch in eager anticipation. As Hannibal predicted, he sagged sideways and tumbled from the chair, sprawling out on the scuffed and dirty concrete floor. Several people near him started to get up to see if he was alright, and the commotion distracting almost the entire bar.

Hannibal calmly stood up and walked out. Will followed him, trying not to look like he was vibrating.

In the car, Will started the ignition and pulled away.

He looked at Hannibal’s face, which seemed to be moving between several different expressions. “That wasn’t as satisfying as you expected,” Will said, turning back to the road.

“I had no expectations,” Hannibal said. “But yes, it wasn’t very interesting to look at. Perhaps as a method of obtaining meat or keeping us alive it’s useful, but otherwise…” Hannibal trailed off.

“Otherwise you’d rather see me with a knife in my hand,” Will finished. “I could have told you, if you’d asked. It’s a very ordinary way of killing, if there is such a thing. Maybe you thought it would seem more intimate because I’m holding their life, but it’s not like that. It’s quick, and for me, easy.”

“Like firing a gun.”

Will’s face twisted into a grimace. “I’d rather have his blood on my hands,” he said quietly.

“Oh Will,” Hannibal breathed. “What beautiful things you say to me.”

Will glanced at Hannibal again, who was looking at him with an inappropriately soft expression given what they were talking about. It suited him, and Will silently promised to see it again and again.

When they arrived back at the cabin, Will was far too full of the man’s life to sleep. He’d never been overfull like this before, always using his ability to heal or increase endurance in dire situations. He’d never taken so much when he was so healthy, and he just felt extremely awake.

Hannibal sat and watched him pace curiously.

“Sorry,” Will muttered. “I’ll go for a walk.”

“You’re not nervous or worried,” Hannibal observed.

“I’m feeling a bit full. I have an entire person’s life force in me and nothing to really use it on,” Will said. 

“What does it feel like?” Hannibal asked, intrigued.

“Like I ate too much, but not in a heavy way. Maybe more like I drank way too much coffee.”

“Could you show me?”

Will stopped pacing and looked at him for a long moment. He sat across from Hannibal and reached out to take his hand. He didn’t need contact to share with him, of course, but he wanted it. 

He sent Hannibal a little at first. Just a small trickle, to see how he’d react. Hannibal’s fingers tightened their hold slightly in surprise, but that was all. Then Will poured, giving Hannibal the man’s life.

Hannibal took a sharp breath and breathed out deliberately slow. 

“Rather refreshing,” he said after a few breaths. “Not like drinking coffee, maybe more like biting into a tart fruit. Invigorating the senses.”

“I’m not sure what fruit you’ve been eating, but it doesn’t usually make me feel this energetic.”

“I will have to bake you some citrus sweets for desert sometime, then.”

Will siphoned a bit of the man’s life back, then stood up. He didn’t feel like he’d vibrate out of his skin anymore but he still felt like he wanted to do _something_. Walking sounded good. Hannibal, who had more self control than Will, seemed content to stay where he was.

Outside, the air was fresh. A few insects buzzed around him, and he both heard and felt the odd animal darting through the grass and around the trees. He looked up at the dark tree canopy above him, and smiled. He’d survived Hannibal’s latest manipulation with no new mental or physical scars, which was more than he could say for most other times Hannibal manipulated him.

They were stumbling towards some kind of mutuality. Hannibal would push because it was in his nature, but he wouldn’t push so hard he risked losing Will. Not now that he had him. 

Will could live with that.


	5. Ever Hopeful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Will and Hannibal escape the country. 
> 
> *Koch is the last name of one of my friends whose family is Ukrainian. It's pronounced like "cook" (at least the anglicized version is), which I thought might suit Hannibal and his love of puns.

In the weeks that followed, Will found himself enjoying the slow pace of their life at the cabin. There would be time for excitement later, maybe, but for now he could sit and read, or talk to Hannibal, or sleep in, or go for long walks through the woods. 

Hannibal stayed home some days, and other days took to car, sometimes leaving for the whole day. Making arrangements. Will watched him go, and greeted him at the door when he came back, finding it difficult to focus on anything when he was out. It wasn’t that he was  _ that _ codependent, he told himself, he just couldn’t help but worry. 

Other days, Hannibal stayed home and Will took the car to the gas station to get another newspaper.

The first one he’d gotten, on the day he’d killed the man in the bar, had the most information. A half page article, second page, with the title ‘Authorities Stumped in Red Dragon Slaying,’ a follow up to what was probably a front page article the previous day. 

He could tell from the tone that most people had already accepted the story the media spun about what happened on the bluff - Hannibal had killed the Red Dragon, and then Will took both of them over the edge. They talked about him like he was a misunderstood but devoted man of the law, who lost his life protecting the public from two serial killers. Will snorted.

There were a few loose threads, and the short quote from Jack in the article told Will the FBI was still picking at them. There weren’t any bodies, and he knew that Jack, at least, would accept nothing less than Hannibal’s rotting corpse as proof of his death. 

On the other hand, the bluff was high, and the currents of the Atlantic were strong. The FBI wouldn’t be able to afford an extensive manhunt on Jack’s word alone.

The next newspaper had an even smaller article, more of a recap of the Red Dragon’s rise and fall. It included information about Francis Dolarhyde’s past, including quotes from his coworkers and a mention of Reba. 

Freddie Lounds was probably hounding her for the story of what it was like to date a serial killer. Will felt sorry she’d be disturbed when her only crime was unwittingly trying to get beneath the Dragon’s hide, and living through the fire of his becoming. 

The next two newspapers had no mention of them. The next, nearly two weeks after their fall, only mentioned that the FBI was halting their active search for the bodies of Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter. 

The day after their visit to the bar, Will noticed over breakfast that Hannibal hadn’t shaved, but didn’t say anything. Two days later, he was looking quite scruffy, and after three weeks, he was on his way to having a beard.

“Are you growing a beard for our escape or have you decided to become a lumberjack?” Will asked as he put down his latest newspaper - no new articles. 

“Just until we get out of the country.”

“Well,” Will said. “You certainly don’t look like Hannibal Lecter.”

Hannibal brushed a hand over his face, almost self-consciously and looked deliberately down at his book.

Will tilted his head at him before opening the newspaper again, this time to the crossword puzzle, and picked up a pen. “I didn’t say it looked bad, just that it doesn’t look like you.”

Hannibal said nothing, but Will saw him smile as he shifted slightly, settling down to actually read rather than just pretend to.

Will watched him out of the corner of his eye. He really didn’t look like Hannibal Lecter, dressed clothes more suitable for being outdoors and comfortable. He looked very average in a way Hannibal had never looked, even when Will thought he was just a cultured psychiatrist. 

Will thought that Hannibal wasn’t very comfortable being average.

He focused back on his crossword.

Days later, nearly a month after they slayed the Dragon, Hannibal came back from one of his daytrips and announced, “We’re leaving in two days.”

Will looked at him, surprised, “That’s really soon.”

Hannibal handed him an envelope, and Will peaked inside. There was a shiny new American passport with his picture and the name “James Thomas Weston.” 

He raised his eyebrows at Hannibal, “So am I a JT? Jim? Jimmy?”

“If I must refer to you by name, I will call you James or Mr. Weston,” Hannibal said. “Though I doubt it will come up.”

“And you are?”

“Ivan Koch.” Hannibal held up his own passport. Ivan Koch was from the Ukraine originally, but had apparently naturalized to become an American citizen.

“Vaguely European enough to explain your accent without being ostentatious. I’m impressed,” Will said playfully.

“Thank you,” Hannibal said with exaggerated dignity. He continued, “There are direct flights to Narita once a week from a smaller airport with slightly lower security. It’s a long drive away from here, so we leave tomorrow. We are two colleagues on a business trip, intending to return next week.”

It seemed pretty straightforward. Despite knowing that their documents were fakes, they looked legitimate, at least to him. Will was sure Hannibal had some contingencies set up, and there was really no reason for him to worry.

He was still worried.

After dinner, they each started packing a small suitcase to take with them, as it would look suspicious to have no luggage. Just a change of clothes, some documents, and other small items to make them seem normal for jet setting businessmen upon casual inspection. Hannibal looked up from where he was packing. “Are you still quite sure we can’t see Bedelia for a quick bite? If we left earlier, it would only be a brief detour on the way to the airport.”

Will looked up from his own bag and gave Hannibal a look of disbelief. “I’m quite sure we can’t do it  _ now _ ,” he said. “And let’s face it Hannibal, you wouldn’t be able to resist not only eating her but  _ preparing _ her. It would be the complete opposite of a short detour.”

“We wouldn’t have to kill her or cook all of her. We could bring the majority of the ingredients in. Just take a part of her for the three of us to dine on. A leg, perhaps,” he offered, as though he hadn’t, as Will knew he had, carefully considered and discarded multiple ways to cook every piece of her during his years behind bars. “We could have a roast.”

Will looked suspiciously at Hannibal’s cheerful expression. “A regular roast?”

Hannibal tilted his head in consideration. “I was thinking something more tropical.”

“So an elaborate roast requiring special ingredients. No,” Will said firmly.

Hannibal continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “The three of us could partake, and then the two of us leave, the FBI none the wiser.”

Will rolled his eyes. “What, and expect no one to notice she’s missing a leg? If she doesn’t tell them we’re alive, someone will probably figure it out. Jack isn’t stupid.”

Hannibal heaved a somewhat dramatic sigh of disappointment.

Will looked at him consideringly. “Why do you want to do this now, Hannibal? You know it’s not smart and you’re the most patient person I know. Why risk our freedom?”

Hannibal began packing again, avoiding Will’s gaze. “I want her to know that we are alive, and that we chose each other.”

Will understood. “After all her certainty that we wouldn’t come together, we did. You want the knowledge to eat at her.”

“I would prefer  _ we _ eat her, but yes, I find the idea very satisfying.”

Will huffed at the lame pun. “She saw both of us very clearly I think. She was just wrong about how far I’d bend, if I could only realize how essential you were to me. And there’s no way she could have anticipated that I could kill you and then bring you back to life. If I couldn’t...move life the way I can, you’d just be dead. I’d be grieving you with the knowledge that I could have accepted you, but you’d still be dead.”

“Then, as ever, I’m grateful for both your uniqueness and your favor.”

“Grateful for my attention, I wouldn’t say you had my favor until recently.”

“And I endeavor not to lose it now that I have it,” Hannibal said.

“You had my favor before, and you threw it away by toying with me too far,” Will reminded him.

“I had your favor for a version of me but not the whole. I would rather have your attention for the whole of me than your favor for a part.” Hannibal’s lips twitched into a smirk. “And now I have your favor for the whole, so I’d say it worked out quite nicely.”

Will supposed it had. He went back to packing his own bag with a smile. Hannibal wanted to show him off. Even though they couldn’t, it was the thought that counted.

He remained cheerful and oddly flattered until he fell asleep. Now that he allowed himself to accept and appreciate it, having Hannibal be so obviously enchanted by him was doing terrible things to his ego.

When he woke from cloudy, pleasant dreams he didn’t recall, he abruptly remembered that they were going to be leaving this safe sanctuary for somewhere very exposed. He felt the cold clutch of anxiety creep down his spine and settle in his belly.

Will dressed in the business casual clothes Hannibal had left out for him - to fit the characters they were playing for the trip - and walked into the kitchen for breakfast.

He ended up playing with his food more than he ate it, and insisted on driving to give himself something to do other than sit and fidget. Hannibal packed their bags into the car, including what looked suspiciously like a insulated bag with tupperware full of food.

“Did you bring food for the whole trip?”

Hannibal sighed. “Unfortunately no. Just for lunch and dinner today. They won’t allow knives, even plastic ones, on the plane, and they may not allow us to bring certain types of food either.”

“You, Hannibal Lecter, are going to subject yourself to airplane food?”

Hannibal looked at him. “The things I do for you.”

Will glanced at him. He had a small smile on his face, so Will guessed he was teasing. “I refuse to accept responsibility for us being on the run. That’s entirely your fault.”

“I have to blame someone for economy class food, because it’s certainly not my fault I have to eat it.”

“Economy?” Will said incredulously. “You’re going to sit on a twelve, fourteen hour trans-pacific flight in economy class?”

“First class wouldn’t fit. The company we are meant to be working for is not large enough to afford it.”

“And you’re playing it as safe as possible,” Will surmised, “For me. And Jack might have people looking through first class passenger lists, since it seems like the kind of thing you’d do.”

Hannibal hummed in agreement.

Will sighed. Hannibal was clearly not looking forward to the flight, but he’d avoided his usual extravagance specifically so they could have as clean a getaway as possible. Honestly, Will wasn’t looking forward to it either. International economy class was generally nicer than domestic economy class, but it was still going to be a long, cramped flight. He glanced at Hannibal again. “In that case,” Will said. “Blame away.”

Hannibal laughed.

They drove for a long time, but took frequent breaks to avoid becoming too tired. They’d left a bit early, so they could afford to stop every two hours or so. They enjoyed Hannibal’s lunch on the side of the road. Afterward, Will stretched out on the grass and managed to take a short nap in the shadow of the car. The smell of grass and the sound of birds and insects stuck with him through the afternoon, calming his anxiety.

They ate dinner at a rest stop with outdoor picnic tables. After they finished, Hannibal threw away everything - the tupperware, the insulated bag, and all their utensils. He paused for a moment next to the garbage can as though mourning the remnants of his good food, and then went to the car.

Will couldn’t help but laugh quietly as he followed.

They arrived on the highway leading to the airport at almost midnight. Their flight left at 6 am, so Will crashed for few more hours in the car. Afterward, Hannibal drove the car off the side of the highway, wiped it down, and they walked the rest of the way.

It was quiet. There were a few cars going to the airport - possibly for an early flight like them - and the odd taxi or shuttle bus leaving, but otherwise it was just the two of them. The lights of the airport in the distance glowed like a beacon. The sky was a deep blue, and though there was too much light it to be full of stars, the brightest ones twinkled down at them. 

They walked along the long ramp leading to departures - airports weren’t really built to be walked to - a little after 3 am. The airport was almost empty, only a few staff, sleepy passengers, and some less-than-alert security.

Despite Will’s nervousness, he held himself still through check-in and security. His heart was pounding hard enough that he could swear everyone around him could hear it, but he kept his breathing measured and didn’t let his hands shake as he handed his ticket to the security officer. He was thankful the US was one of those countries that didn’t have immigration for people leaving. Going through it when they arrived was going to be nerve-wracking enough.

After security, Will stopped by one of the coffee vending machines. He’d need to stay awake at least long enough to get on the plane, and he already felt exhausted. Hannibal just sniffed in the vending machine’s general direction before wrinkling his nose slightly and continuing on to sit at the gate.

Will drank the coffee in one go, wincing as it burned his throat but not really wanting to taste it, then joined Hannibal. 

Soon after, they boarded smoothly. No one had given them so much as a second glance the entire time in the airport.

Will settled in his seat and looked out the window at the pink and orange sky. As they took off, he couldn’t help but rest his hand on top of Hannibal’s. Not holding, just touching, silently expressing his hope and relief. Hannibal didn’t move away, and Will left his hand there until they were high enough that the flight attendants began to move around again.

He closed the window and then settled back in his seat, fully prepared to sleep the entire flight.

Before he drifted off, he thought he felt the light brush of fingers on his cheek.


	6. A House in the Marsh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal arrive. Will muses. Conversations are had.

They arrived at the airport, exhausted and in need of a shower but otherwise none the worse for wear. Hannibal had quietly eaten the economy class airplane food with a look of muted distaste, which made Will break out into chuckles whenever he thought about it. They stayed with the crowds as much as possible as they walked toward the taxis. 

Immigration had required a scan of their fingerprints and a picture which made Will nervous, but Hannibal had assured him it was primarily used for crimes within Japan and they were unlikely to cross-reference the information with outside governments. 

It was muggy and raining outside. 

“Rainy season,” Hannibal remarked. “We’ll have to buy umbrellas.”

In the taxi, Hannibal gave their destination in Japanese, and Will squinted at him because the name sounded like he should know what it was but couldn’t quite grasp it.

When they pulled up in front of a Mercedes Benz dealer well over two hours of stop and go traffic later, he couldn’t help his exasperation. 

“We’re moving up the German car food chain.”

“I assure you Will, the town we’re going to will have many more good quality European cars than this. It would stand out not to have one.”

“I think you’re just enjoying having an expensive car again.”

Hannibal smiled slightly. “An action can have more than one purpose. I’m killing two birds with one stone.”

“Killing something with a stone? You?” Will snarked.

They were served drinks and snacks when Hannibal indicated he wanted to buy. Will got bored with not understanding anything and looked through the pictures in the magazines he couldn’t read or stared out the window.

After hours of paperwork that Will hoped wasn’t going to be checked too closely, they were able to drive away with a shiny new car. The seats are incredibly comfortable, so Will managed not to remark on how the interior was a classy, but not-very-subtle red.

“It will be a four hour drive if we avoid toll roads. Those are likely to have cameras at the entrances and exits, so it would be better to stay off them.” Hannibal grimaced. “I suppose we’ll have to eat out before we leave.”

Will laughed at his expression. “I vote McDonald’s.”

Hannibal looked distinctly unamused. “Luckily for me, McDonald’s,” his voice dripped with disdain on the name, “is more likely to have cameras.”

In the end, they went to a small cafe on a side street. Hannibal declared the pork curry palatable, which for a hole in the wall cafe people could eat at without a reservation was practically a glowing review. 

Will figured he was probably just hungry, and it  _ was _ a significant step up from airplane food.

After their very late lunch, he stayed silent in the car, feeling mildly irritable from the stale clothes he’d been wearing for far too many hours. 

The rain let up in the late afternoon, leaving everything shiny in the yellow-orange glow of the sun. The skyscrapers of the inner metropolis slowly gave way to residential areas and then finally countryside, interspersed with small cities. Will stared at the reflection of the setting sun off the water in the flooded rice paddies, and thought about beauty.

He knew Hannibal appreciated beauty in many forms - art, music. He had worn beautiful clothes, lived in a beautiful house and ate beautifully cooked and arranged food. He also appreciated more unconventional forms of beauty - the pallor of people’s skin after death, the scent of their blood, the taste of their flesh. 

Will had come to see these things as beautiful too - or maybe he always had, but couldn’t truly accept it until that moment on the bluff, seeing the blood like ink on their skin. Some last bit of who he’d always wanted, or forced himself, to be had rebelled against that knowledge. It was what made him think that attempting to die might be better than living as someone who knew how beautiful killing could be. Not artistry after death, like Hannibal’s displays as the Chesapeake Ripper - he already knew he found that beautiful - but the act itself. 

And he knew that maybe not tomorrow, or this month, or the next, but someday he’d want that beauty back.

He leaned against the seat belt and watched as the mountains, at first small and distant, suddenly loomed around them. The road twisted and turned, taking them through green valleys. He drifted off as dusk turned to night, as much to avoid motion sickness as to rest.

When Will woke, they were parked in front of a house. It wasn’t, by Hannibal’s standards, a very large house, but he supposed it was just supposed to be a vacation home. Will stepped out of the car. 

The air here wasn’t as stiflingly humid as it had been in the city, but still had the fresh smell of grass after the rain. Surrounding the house was a large property, with trees lining the edges to obstruct the view the yard from the road.

It felt secluded, separated. Almost like home. 

A home with Hannibal.

Will hoped they could find somewhere as comfortable to stay permanently, although he supposed they could always risk coming back here.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Hannibal said, startling Will from his thoughts. “Just in time for dinner.” He’d already shaved off the beard he’d grown for their escape.

“When did you have time to go shopping?” Will asked, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I stopped on the way,” Hannibal said. “You seemed to need rest, so I let you sleep.”

Will hummed his thanks and began walking to the house. 

The house was raised slightly above the ground, with a walkway running all the way around. There were sliding doors on three sides of the house, with screens to keep out bugs. It was only one floor, and the five rooms inside could opened up into one big room, or divided using another series of sliding doors. On the side without an outside door was the bathroom, separate toilet room and closet. Hannibal had opened everything up so a cool breeze could pass freely through the house.

“An older-style summer house,” Hannibal said. “My aunt had the inside upgraded slightly several years ago, but left the design relatively the same. I’ve been having someone maintain it, so everything is in working order. The doors are the reason it’s unsuitable for winter, this area is far too cold to live in a house with no insulation.”

He moved toward the kitchen where a table had been set, and Will followed.

“For tonight,” he continued, “A light dinner salad made with local mountain vegetables, mushrooms, and strips of ham with vinegar, soy sauce and ginger.”

Will sat and picked up his fork, feeling very hungry considering he’d just woken up, and took a bite.

“Delicious as usual,” Will said.

Hannibal raised his eyebrows. “Not always?”

Will laughed. “Really, Hannibal?”

Hannibal sniffed. “I would just like to know if there was ever anything I made you didn’t like.”

Will shook his head with a smile. “I can’t think of anything in particular. Don’t worry, your reputation as a chef is unscathed.”

Hannibal was silent, but Will could still see he was still pouting slightly. It had really just been an offhand remark. He hadn’t meant to make Hannibal think he had at some point not liked his cooking, but on the other hand he was sure there would be several extravagantly delicious meals in his future as Hannibal tried to get him to admit that his cooking was  _ always _ amazing. He could enjoy Hannibal’s additional effort for a while before putting him out of his misery.

He continued eating with a small smile.

After dinner they mutually decided to go to bed. It had been a very, very long time since they had slept horizontally, and they were both exhausted. As he laid out in the dark, Will heard it start to rain again. He drifted off to the sound of Hannibal’s light breathing and the rain on the roof.

It was still raining the next morning. Hannibal had separated one of the rooms out into a kind of ‘dining room’ and breakfast had multiple dishes carefully arranged on the table. Will ate while hiding his amusement as much as possible, enjoying not only the taste, but the effort Hannibal had put into the presentation. For the first time since they ran away together, there was a centerpiece on the table - just some flowers but still, they looked like wild flowers so Hannibal must have gone out to pick them himself. 

They went into town together, Hannibal to pick up more food, and Will to wander around. The town was small, and the main attractions appeared to be two shopping areas - one an older style street lined with shops in wooden buildings, the other a modern outdoor complex. Hannibal wanted to go to the modern shopping area to buy some special organic ingredients or something. While Hannibal went into one of the expensive-looking grocery stores, Will sat at a cafe and people watched. 

There was an interesting assortment of people around. One older lady, wearing an actual fur coat even though it was a bit warm for it, was walking around with her dog under her arm. She would walk from one area of grass to the next, and pause for several minutes, not appearing to be there for any particular reason other than to be seen. He guessed that everything from her coat to her sunglasses was expensive.

Another woman seemed to be bargain hunting. She walked with a list in her hand, carefully checking prices and writing down those that had changed since the last time she checked. Then she sat down and began to cross reference her list with something on her phone - perhaps an online shopping site. After several minutes, she got up and went back to one store, buying a dress that had apparently met her price standards.

He was distracted when he saw Hannibal walk out of the store, brown paper bag subtly stamped with the store’s logo in hand. Several other people noticed him as well, but Will was pleased to note that none of the gazes looked like they recognized him as Hannibal, cannibalistic serial killer from America. Their looks ranged from those appreciating his clothes, to those looking merely because he was visibly foreign. 

“Shall we go?” Hannibal asked when he arrived at Will’s table. “Or would you like to stay?”

Will shook his head and finished the rest of his coffee. “I can always come back, let’s go.”

As their house came into view through the trees, Will already felt like he wanted to stay here forever. No one seemed to recognize them despite how many people had seen them together in town. Maybe they wouldn’t have to worry about being found out here and could just enjoy their lives.

It was late afternoon, and there was some time before they would eat dinner so Will decided to walk around outside. As he walked, he reached to pull life from the grass as he stepped, making a patch of brown, dead soil, then pushed as he lifted his foot, leaving tall fresh grass behind him. 

Hannibal watched him from the house. “Have you ever tried to grow something specific?” Hannibal asked.

Will thought about it. “Not really, I don’t think I can. Just like I wouldn’t be able to create a new person or animal, I only give life to what’s already there. Some of it might be from dead seeds that never grew, but it all comes from somewhere.”

“Your power is movement, not creation, then.”

“Yes. And there seem to be limits. After all, I can’t make something become younger or older, even though it seems like those should all be connected,” he said.

“You still age,” Hannibal remarked, “So it’s probable that eventually you will grow old and die from natural causes if nothing else.”

“That’s a relief,” Will said, “I don’t want to die right now, but I don’t want to live forever either.”

Hannibal smiled. “I’m glad you’re no longer feeling suicidal, Will. It was terribly concerning.”

“I guess it only took you dying for me to finally accept myself. Good job, doctor,” Will said. “Another successful unconventional therapy.”

Hannibal laughed. “Perhaps I should write a paper. Though it wouldn’t be widely applicable, since people so rarely come back from the dead.”

“I don’t know,” Will said, “You might not be bringing people back in the same way as me, but it’s difficult to argue that Miriam Lass and Abigail didn’t come back from the dead.”

Hannibal paused, and when he spoke his voice was carefully neutral. “Have you...forgiven me? For Abigail?”

Will swallowed against grief that still welled up at the thought of her. “You know I have. And some of my anger wasn’t at you anyway, it was at myself. I-” he stopped for moment, unsure how to proceed. “She would have died anyway, I know, but my ability...pulled from her to save me. I couldn’t control it, I never can when my life’s in danger.”

“You felt guilty, and your guilt fueled your anger at me.”

“Yes,” he said. “But I’ve had a lot of time to think, and...once we were in her life, that was the only way it could have ended for her. You would have found something to punish me for, and taken her from me.” Will looked at Hannibal. “Once you loved me, you would always have been jealous of my attention and love for her.”

Hannibal said nothing, his face a mask.

“I only wish she’d never met any of us. That her father had been a better man. That she could have had a happier life,” he took another deep breath. “But I can’t blame you for all of that. So...yes. I forgive you.”

Hannibal just nodded in acceptance. Will wandered farther away to the tree line, as much to escape the conversation as to explore further. 

Behind the tree line was a small stream. Not big enough to have any fish, but he made a note to follow it some day to see if he could find a larger river connected to it. He sat by it, letting the flies buzz around him until the sun set. When he started to see the lightning bugs’ glow fading in and out over the stream, he got up and went back.

Hannibal welcomed him home with an easy smile and invited him to sit for dinner, the heavy atmosphere from their earlier conversation dispelled by their time apart.


	7. A New Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will and Hannibal decide to stay. Mind the updated warning - very, very brief rape mention not involving either Will or Hannibal in any way, but it's mentioned. If it's any consolation, the guy dies? Very short epilogue to follow.

Rainy season ended and gave way to true summer. Though the area was famous for being cool, Will still felt lazy from the humid heat. The rain was replaced by the sound of cicadas screaming from the trees day and night. 

For Will, it was like white noise and he slept probably the best he had in his life.

Hannibal seemed to feel he’d discovered all Will knew about his ability, but Will could sometimes see his thoughts turning over and over. Questions that Will had sometimes asked himself, but never cared enough to pursue - were there others like him? What was he, exactly? Was he just a special kind of human, or something else?

Will thought Hannibal would probably puzzle over it until he died - which was good, it meant he would never get bored.

Once it became clear that they were staying for more than a few days, some locals and regulars started making more of an effort to get to know them. Will struck up an acquaintanceship with an older woman who also liked to spend time people watching at the same cafe as him.

It was an easy relationship. They chatted over coffee about inconsequential things, or made observations about those around them.

“I especially like coming here for New Years,” she’d said, a slight smirk on her face. “People from Tokyo, you know, it’s so much colder here in the winter than they expect. But they come from the warm station, on the warm train and suddenly - here they are! - wearing their fashionable light jackets and beautiful shoes - and walking through half a meter of snow and freezing.” She’d laughed. “It’s very entertaining. I come every year to watch it.”

Will enjoyed her frank and slightly malicious character. She wasn’t an unkind person, and certainly not a killer, but she also saw temporary visitors to the town somewhat like animals in a zoo. Or maybe ants under a microscope.

Anyway, it was a good way to pass the time while Hannibal shopped. The man spent an extraordinary amount of time not only looking at what was available, but also chatting to the shop owners - “making connections,” he’d said.

It seemed to have paid off. By their third week in Japan, he’d already been introduced to several local farmers and arranged to be informed what time deliveries were going to be made, so he could select the freshest wares.

Will just rolled his eyes and enjoyed drinking his coffee while he waited. He couldn’t be too exasperated, as he was enjoying the fruits of Hannibal’s labour at every meal. He’d finally admitted that  _ yes, Hannibal, your cooking is  _ always _ amazing _ over after a truly incredible chocolate dessert that looked exactly like a lemon. He didn’t want to know how long it had taken Hannibal to make.

Though the meals became slightly less extravagant, with the occasional repeat dish, even, Hannibal seemed more assured and himself for having put in the extra effort. Will realized that though Hannibal had tried to hide it, he had felt somewhat adrift during their escape. Being able to set down his roots and devote time to his cooking had allowed him to settle into their new life together. He was really a habitual sort of person, enjoying going to the same familiar places, settling in the same familiar home. 

Will again thought that, not only for himself but also for Hannibal, it would be nice if they could stay here.

After a month of sticking close to their house, Will declared he wanted to check the news. None of the nearby convenience stores carried English newspapers, so they did a day trip to the nearest large city, just over the mountains. Instead of getting a newspaper, Hannibal stopped to purchase a tablet with sim card, which Will immediately stole to check Tattlecrime. 

It seemed like Freddie was distracted by other killers at the moment, so Will scrolled back through the articles. There was one, dated a few weeks ago, a closing article discussing the remaining mysteries of the Red Dragon case and the deaths of Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter. There was a picture of the house on the bluff and a shot of the blood pool left by the Dragon. Even Freddie, who tended to suggest the most outrageous things and somehow be right, said nothing to indicate she thought they were alive.

Will put the tablet down on his lap and sighed in relief. 

“Good news?” Hannibal said from the driver’s seat.

“No news, which is good news,” he said.

“Good,” Hannibal said, “Maybe now you can stop worrying about it.”

Will glared at him. “I don’t understand how you’re so relaxed all the time, you do a lot of things that  _ should _ make you worry, but somehow don’t.”

Hannibal glanced at him and smiled. “I realistically assess risks, and worry about what’s worth worrying about. I also never allow worry to prevent me from enjoying myself.”

Will laughed.

Summer drifted by in lazy days at the house or at the river he’d found nearby. He hadn’t caught any fish there yet, but he enjoyed the process more than the reward anyway. Hannibal occupied himself reading or sketching or cooking, and they both enjoyed conversing whenever the mood struck. 

One day, the air felt cooler and Will tightened his jaw at the idea of leaving. He couldn’t imagine where they could go that would be as nice as this.

Over dinner that night, Will reluctantly brought up the topic of where they would go next.

“Where would you like to go?” Hannibal asked.

“Honestly?” Will said. “If we could, I’d stay here. I like this house, this area. It’s secluded, but there are a lot of cities nearby we could hunt in. You were right that you aren’t famous here, we might even be able to use our real names and no one would care.”

“This area gets quite cold in the winter, and this house isn’t built to be lived in except in the summer. But...” Hannibal hummed. “I suppose we could always renovate.”

Will sighed. “I guess it would draw attention to stay here that long though. If this is a summer resort area.”

“Well,” Hannibal said thoughtfully. “We’ve already established ourselves as somewhat eccentric. The locals would probably see it as just an extension of that. And, while they might gossip amongst themselves about us, I doubt they would be so crass as to gossip to outsiders.”

Will leaned forward. “We could build you a new kill room in the basement. Find people to kill, wait, and when we have the opportunity, kidnap them. Bring them back here in the trunk. If we’re careful, if we chose people no one would miss much, if we didn’t leave a body to be found...”

“Take every part we can,” Hannibal mused, looking pleased at the idea. “I have some excellent recipes using bone marrow that I haven’t often had a chance to make.”

“No displays, no audience, but we can perform for each other,” Will tempted.

“You don’t have to convince me, Will,” Hannibal said. “It was enough that you wanted to stay. I’ll call a contractor tomorrow. We may have to stay somewhere else while they rebuild, but it will likely only take a few months.”

Will grinned, pleased. He said, “We should get another car too. Something not as noticeable.”

“Perhaps a hybrid,” Hannibal said. “Quieter.”

Will looked up at the ceiling in exasperation. “How is an expensive hybrid  _ less noticeable _ ?”

“They’re somewhat more common here because fuel is so expensive,” Hannibal defended. “And there are a some lower end models that are very reasonable.”

“My reasonable or your reasonable?” Will asked.

Hannibal paused. “Reasonable,” he repeated. That meant ‘Hannibal’s reasonable,’ but Will decided to just give in. He wasn’t going to get away with something cheap, and he supposed most of the cheap cars he’d seen around wouldn’t have a big enough trunk.

The next day, Hannibal called a local construction company, and later that week a young man with a megawatt smile showed up to go over what they wanted for the new house. Hannibal decided to keep the basic design of the house the same, but upgrade everything for the winter. New walls and doors with better insulation, triple pane glass on the windows and, at the young man’s earnest recommendation, solar panels on the roof. Central heating wasn’t popular, but the man offered them the idea of heated flooring instead. 

Will thought that sounded like way more trouble than central heating, but had already told himself he wasn’t going to get too involved with the whole process. It slowed everything down when he was interested anyway, since Hannibal had to stop to translate for him.

The basement was a more unusual request - not the basement itself, but that Hannibal didn’t want any obvious stairs leading to it. The reason he gave was apparently aesthetic - a staircase in the middle of a house that was basically one room would be kind of an eyesore - and the man accepted it without comment. He finally suggested putting the door to the basement outside, underneath the house.

It was perfect, given what they were going to use the basement for, and probably what Hannibal had been aiming for anyway. This way, though, he could have the man suggest it and apologize that they would have to access it from the outside.

Hannibal graciously agreed that it was probably the best solution.

While the new house was being constructed, they decided to go on a trip. More of a scouting trip than a vacation. 

They travelled between various larger cities within a few hours’ drive of the town they were going to call home, and watched.

The first mark was an American who was being incredibly obnoxious on the train late at night. Clearly drunk, he shouted obscene things at the women on the train, making them uncomfortable and disturbing the other passengers including himself and Hannibal. They got off at his station and followed him back to his apartment, marking the location for later. 

The next night they followed him to a bar, where Will struck up a conversation with him. He bought the man round after round of beer, while slowly sipping on his own. Late into the night, the man revealed what Will had suspected from his comments the night before - he sometimes got women drunk and raped with them while they were practically unconscious. 

Of course, the man didn’t call it rape, he told it like it was a funny story, and Will tried hard not to look like he was snarling instead of smiling. The man was drunk enough that maybe he wouldn’t have noticed either way.

Will left the bar that night feeling satisfied he could kill the man, and also chafing against the need to wait. He and Hannibal were finding a balance, not waiting years for a kill - because Will didn’t think he could stand it - but not doing it right away either. So instead of knocking the despicable man out in an alley and calling Hannibal to bring the car, he saw him safely to the train.

He tried not to think about who the man would hurt before they got the chance to kill him.

Hannibal helped. “If we hadn’t found him, he would have continued for probably his entire life. If he does it again before we kill him, that’s his fault not yours. There’s no need to feel guilty for his actions.”

“Actions I could prevent.”

“And put us at risk by doing so. I doubt that man can manage to trick a woman, even a drunk one, into going home with him very often. Assess the probability realistically using your skills, rather than reacting automatically with guilt.”

Will knew Hannibal was right. The man wasn’t particularly good looking, and if he was catcalling women on the train, he was clearly striking out at the bar beforehand. He wasn’t someone who went out with the intention of raping women, he just had a skewed idea of consent. It was likely that if they left him alone for a few months, he would do nothing worse than drink himself into a stupor every night.

Hannibal took them to another city the next day, probably as much because they were finished as to remove temptation.

Wil went out walking that night, wandering the streets and back alleys. All the cities they’d gone to became almost dead after about 1 am when the trains stopped. The people who were out after that were generally either so drunk they’d forgotten the time and were now walking home, or were up to something unsavory.

Groups of bikers obnoxiously ripped around the city most nights, mufflers purposefully removed to make the engine louder. Since they were also in the lower rungs of the mob, they were frequently involved in intimidating shop owners and businesses to pay money for ‘protection.’ Will slipped into one of their bars, and picked out one of the more truly dangerous ones as their mark.

Hannibal followed him home from a distance the next night, and they marked the location. It would be a bit difficult - the man lived in a nice area, actually - but they weren’t planning to kill him now anyway.

Planning was more Hannibal’s forte anyway, and Will was certain he’d come up with something.

And so it went while their house was being built. Finding people they’d like to kill, making note of apartments and frequented areas. It was fun, to pick people out, to follow them. To see them going about their usually lonely, despicable lives without knowing how close they were to death. 

When they returned home, the house was beautiful. Will looked forward to making it more and more their own as time went on. The door to the basement was not very obvious when looking at the house, but easy to access from the car. Inside was the large freezer Hannibal had requested.

Will tapped his knuckles on it and looked around the bare room, imagining what it would be like to kill the first man, the American, here. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to let him try to fight, or tie him up and watch Hannibal take his time. Maybe Will could subdue him, and then Hannibal could cut him open while Will held him still.

He took a deep shuddering breath and forced himself to go upstairs.

Hannibal greeted him warmly and Will sat and watched Hannibal cook in their brand new, upgraded kitchen.

“Did you imagine killing someone while you were down there?”

“I imagined us killing the first guy. The rapist.”

Hannibal looked at Will, “Did it feel good?”

“It’ll feel better to actually do it.”

“Your imagination is vivid, Will, I think the experience will be almost exactly as you picture it. You’ll have to tell me about it so we can create your design together.”

“Not the first time,” Will said wryly. “I don’t have enough first-hand experience with...premeditated murder. My mind isn’t sure how it wants to do it. We’ll see about my  _ design _ with the next one.”

Hannibal looked pleased that Will was deferring to his greater experience. As much as they had become equals, Hannibal also enjoyed the role of guide and mentor. Enjoyed it a lot, given how many people he’d pushed to become murderers as a psychiatrist. Will would let him take the lead the first time, and he was sure Hannibal would make the experience unforgettable.

“Next week, then. We’ll take the American,” Hannibal decided.


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short epilogue.

Will stood next to the modern apartment building, just out of the glow of the street lights. It was early Winter, and the weather was cold at night. Their little town had already had several big snowstorms, and Will hoped the weather held out long enough for him to get back home.

They were out of meat, after all.

Their first joint murder - after the Dragon, of course - had gone off without a hitch. Hannibal had parked the car in a small alley between the station and the American’s apartment. They’d arrived just as the last train pulled into the station on a Sunday night. Most people were asleep in anticipation of work the next morning, so there’d been no one around as the man stumbled down the street.

“Remember me?” Will had said as he slung an arm around the man’s shoulders and pulled him toward the alley.

“No, man, I don’t- I don’t,” the man had stuttered, but Hannibal had appeared and shoved his head against the pole he’d covered in plastic. The man had fallen unconscious, and Hannibal had taken the plastic off the pole to cover the lightly bleeding wound on the man’s head. They’d put him into the car - the Prius Hannibal had insisted on buying - and zip tied his hands and feet in case he woke up during the ride.

That kill had been mostly Hannibal. Will had sat and watched in rapt attention as Hannibal tied him down and cut him open. Of course, he’d reconstructed Hannibal’s murders in the past, and seen him kill before, but not quite like that. 

Will had come over to touch the man’s faltering organs when Hannibal had opened him up, making his hands slick with dark blood, but that was all. Afterward, he’d helped Hannibal package and arrange the meat for storage, taking a few choice cuts up to the kitchen. Despite the late hour, Hannibal carefully sliced and cooked the heart for them to enjoy first.

Will marvelled at how much he’d changed, that he thought of nothing as he ate but how good it tasted.

For the next kill - the biker - they waited another month. 

This one would be mostly Will. Hannibal wasn’t even here, he was waiting back at home for him. Probably reading, or puzzling over Will’s ability as usual.

He heard the biker’s engine coming closer and took a steadying breath. He breathed in the grass and the birds, the people sleeping in the apartment, the man on the bike coming closer and closer.

It was a beautiful night, and he was alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read, kudos'd and commented :). I have another Hannibal AU idea rattling around in my head, but I haven't figured out all the details yet. Honestly, I wish I had more fandom friends to bounce ideas off of, but I don't really do social media. Hard to find people. Anyway, hopefully I'll figure that one out and start writing/posting it by the fall.

**Author's Note:**

>   * Will's powers are inspired by this gif (not the movie, just this gif only):  
> 
> 
>   * Kabosu is a type of citrus fruit, sometimes used as an alternative to vinegar or to preserve fish. This fic's working title was "Push and Pull" and I might end up going back to that, but "Kabosu" is also an extremely obscure song that I heard performed live the other day. It struck me that the calmly cheerful tone and the slightly dark lyrics of it match Hannibal fairly well, even if the style of music doesn't. Or maybe I've just been thinking about Hannibal too much and now it's infecting my whole life, who knows.
>   * I based the house design (especially the new house) off the House of Light, in Tokamachi, Niigata. Niigata gets significantly more snow than Nagano (the area I imagined them to be in), so that house is up a bit higher than I imagine Will and Hannibal’s to be. I imagined the basement to be set below the surface somewhat, vs the House of Light which has the ‘basement’ even with the ground.  
> 
> 
>   * I asked a friend of mine who has owned both a Prius and a Lexus which one had a bigger trunk, and apparently the Prius does. It also has slightly better gas mileage, although slightly less comfortable seats. So there you go. Prius: the best car for the environmentally-conscious serial killer. 
> 



End file.
